so, i've been lax about posting lately. i think it's that whole post-holiday let-down, when you come back into your "real life". but i got to go away again. so more to tell you about.
i went to vancouver the weekend of the 21-23 septembre for S.B.'s and Y.J.K's wedding. but before i get to the wedding (it was awesome!), let me start off in order.
JFK to YVR, Cathay Pacific Flt. 889, 20.09.07
of course, in order to save scads of money and to minimize travel time, i opted for the less than $400 cathay pacific flight. this flight goes from ny to vancouver and then on to hong kong. this flight is overrun with young-ish couples. who have babies. whiny, wailing, split your nails it kills my brain loud babies. in the economy class where the other plebes, like me, sit, there were 16 babies. 16. and you could feel it. one would start and the others would pipe up like it was some sort of torturous round or something.
the two people beside me (i was the middle seat of 3) were very interesting & easy to chat with: she = a vancouverite; he = a victorian. the glitch was that immediately in front of us, there was a man with a baby. no mom. no breasts to suckle. just a man and a baby. the baby was really freakin' loud. & did not stop crying until we began our descent into vancouver.
oh, did i forget to mention that this flight leaves new york at 11 PM and arrives vancouver at 2 AM.
oh but before i even get on the flight, i had foreshadowing that the trip to vancouver was not going to be as easy-peasy as i had thought.
J.H. had come over for dinner. we then walked up to the subway to catch the A - me in the direction of the airport; he towards manhattan. we part ways at nostrand station. and then spend another 10 minutes talking across the platform until J.H.'s train came. mine followed shortly thereafter.
one or two stops fly by. when i realize that i don't have my passport in my bag. sh*t! i hop off the train at the next possible station, loop back to the franklin avenue shuttle stop on fulton street and then shuttle back to the apartment as fast as the MTA will allow us to move. so my whole "get to JFK for only $7" plan thwarted! had to hustle home, call a car & dash to the airport.
Dash to the airport ... only to wait. There was a delay (of course), the airline needed to load 16 families with small, small children on to the plane, then the elderly, then people with platinum-plus-plus-plus super-elite better than the rest of us cards get to go on. Finally, the rest of us - aka the plebians. The worst part about this ordeal was that all the shops were boarded up. ALL of them. There was Hudson News taunting me with all the magazines & books I couldn't browse. The only place to get food was this one "sit-down" restaurant or McDonald's. I finally buckled to see if McDonald's had hot chocolate (because the terminal was freeeeeezing). Of course they didn't. The order person looked at me like I might be certifiable. Hot chocolate. What a concept.
Alas, finally we board. All of us.
My seat-mates are very cool. A Croatian guy living in Victoria now (we sympathized over his dating prospects, going out options) and a middle-aged-ish woman in Vancouver (we discussed restaurants & neighbourhoods). Lovely people. In front of us however was a demon-child. And a father that even my frozen heart could have sympathy for. he was traveling to hong kong with his baby (who seriously looked small enough to still be in the womb) and he was doing this all by himself. his baby was wailing at 700000 decibles and he seemed clue-less. no doubt, if he could lactate, all would probably have been well. someone really should have pointed out to him that little babies can't eat the food served in-flight.
between the discordant crying from 16 different areas of economy class. apparently people in first class don't (a) have children (that's why they have lots of money) or (b) sedate their children (leading to life-long substance abuse problems) or (c) leave their children at home with a nanny-entourage. unclear.
flight arrives vancouver at around 2:30 am. i call A.K. who had graciously offered to put me up, but also to wake up and let me in at 3:00 am. bless her. i hop into a cab driven by a young asian man, who went to uvic for fine arts and is now saving money from his job to go to film school. he wants to study in the u.s. but doesn't want to start selling organs on the black market to pay for it. so he'll probably stay in vancouver. he was very nice and helped me figure out exactly which house in the darkness that can only be found in cities not new york was A.K.'s. A.K. lives very close to commercial drive. a great location. and a great apartment. and the hospitality -- check plus plus. A.K. lets me into the apartment & leads me to the couch which looks as inviting as a sleepy's mattress warehouse.
sleep.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
poetry in static
the MTA puts poems in the subway cars alongside the advertisements for laser hair removal, acne-scar banishment, erectile disfunction zapping and weightloss of an astonishing 75 lbs in just 2 weeks. the poems are part of the "poetry in motion" thing.
but what about poetry in static? some of the best poems are about things and people being stationary. i can't think of any right now, but i'm sure some poems are static and that some of them are among the best. of the entire poetry universe.
i'm no poet (though i did once have a haiku published online when cbc radio3 still had their e'zine online). but i thought i'd take a stab at poetry in static. please contribute some of your own efforts. and if we have enough, maybe we can publish an anthology (tentatively titled something really awful like "take a stand"):
molasses
doesn't move as slow
as me
on the couch
reaching for the remote control
the big one
turn the tv on
move think feel react for me.
where is andersen cooper today?
but what about poetry in static? some of the best poems are about things and people being stationary. i can't think of any right now, but i'm sure some poems are static and that some of them are among the best. of the entire poetry universe.
i'm no poet (though i did once have a haiku published online when cbc radio3 still had their e'zine online). but i thought i'd take a stab at poetry in static. please contribute some of your own efforts. and if we have enough, maybe we can publish an anthology (tentatively titled something really awful like "take a stand"):
molasses
doesn't move as slow
as me
on the couch
reaching for the remote control
the big one
turn the tv on
move think feel react for me.
where is andersen cooper today?
i called 311 yesterday
to make a noise complaint about my neighbourhood. & i don't care if that makes me just like my dad. but g'd it, people.
of course, nothing has changed. tonight, like last night, some total monotard is outside playing his geee-tar thinking he's carlos santana. there's something about a guy + guitar that makes me want to scream cliche. at least play something different. pick up a xylophone. a guitar! argh!!!!
add to that the sounds of 10,000 parent-less or poorly-parented screaming kids running around on the street. i like kids. as much as the next person. okay, no i don't. i don't like kids as much as the next person if the next person thinks the din from outside is adorable. or spirited. or tolerable. or anything that falls short of a violation of human rights.
p.s. i do like kids when they are kids i know. well, if they be likeable that is.
anyway. when i called 311, it was as though i was talking TO the city of NY. i felt empowered. pppshawwww.
wait a minute. i hear a siren. please please please please be the cops coming to shut down the strumming lothario out there. even buskers need a license!
INSANITY.
of course, nothing has changed. tonight, like last night, some total monotard is outside playing his geee-tar thinking he's carlos santana. there's something about a guy + guitar that makes me want to scream cliche. at least play something different. pick up a xylophone. a guitar! argh!!!!
add to that the sounds of 10,000 parent-less or poorly-parented screaming kids running around on the street. i like kids. as much as the next person. okay, no i don't. i don't like kids as much as the next person if the next person thinks the din from outside is adorable. or spirited. or tolerable. or anything that falls short of a violation of human rights.
p.s. i do like kids when they are kids i know. well, if they be likeable that is.
anyway. when i called 311, it was as though i was talking TO the city of NY. i felt empowered. pppshawwww.
wait a minute. i hear a siren. please please please please be the cops coming to shut down the strumming lothario out there. even buskers need a license!
INSANITY.
picture this
the brillenmuseum in amsterdam was a superfantastick place to take pictures. no one else was visiting the museum while i was there (everyone else was probably jostling for a look in the rijksmuseum: fools) and the glass and angles made for some faux-artistic pictures. barry from my digital photog. workshop will be proud.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
is this the end ...
of my t-log? technically i'm not t-ing anymore and i've logged all the t i did, and the mandate of my t-log has been fulfilled. but i've so enjoyed my musings (yes, i enjoy my very own musings and read and re-read them over & over again, refreshing for new comments.)
what do i do?
what do i do?
my trip winds downnnnnnn.
21.08.07 & 22.08.07:
my arrival back at P's, C's & E's place was a home-coming. on a side note, P & C are coming to NYC this weekend & staying with me. hardly a fitting payback for my insinuation into their lives & home for so long, but it's a start. i guess i can pay it forward.
so my airline, aer lingus, was on alert for a pilot strike, which meant that i wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen with my flight. phew (though a last minute call from the governor type respite would mean i could stay in europe a bit longer), my flight was not one of the ones cancelled. so i was still good for making it home. though my chances of making it to vancouver for my cousin's wedding were dwindling, especially since holy jetlag!
but i digress. i went to bagels & beans to celebrate/mourn the air lingus non-strike. i love bagels & beans, especially the one in the passage. we had a lovely dinner at home that night (my last night with P, C, E & newcomers P & E.) but i did get to do my laundry again before leaving the netherlands & bask in the awesome friendships forged.
the next day was my flight from schiphol (best airport ever!) mid-afternoon. P (C's P, not P, L's friend P) helped me to den haag centraal because he's such a gentleman. maybe i need to go to lisbon next! i get to the airport without incident. board my flight to dublin, kick it in dublin airport for my layover & then board my flight back to NY. ahhhhh. the flight was great. my entire row (all the way across the plane) was empty so i really got to stretch out in those 3 middle of the plane seats. lovely. i forget what movie was playing. i think it was blades of thunderous steel. i practiced mouth-reading by not using my headphones even though they were free.
and then the inevitable happened to mark the end of my trip.
my pen exploded.
my arrival back at P's, C's & E's place was a home-coming. on a side note, P & C are coming to NYC this weekend & staying with me. hardly a fitting payback for my insinuation into their lives & home for so long, but it's a start. i guess i can pay it forward.
so my airline, aer lingus, was on alert for a pilot strike, which meant that i wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen with my flight. phew (though a last minute call from the governor type respite would mean i could stay in europe a bit longer), my flight was not one of the ones cancelled. so i was still good for making it home. though my chances of making it to vancouver for my cousin's wedding were dwindling, especially since holy jetlag!
but i digress. i went to bagels & beans to celebrate/mourn the air lingus non-strike. i love bagels & beans, especially the one in the passage. we had a lovely dinner at home that night (my last night with P, C, E & newcomers P & E.) but i did get to do my laundry again before leaving the netherlands & bask in the awesome friendships forged.
the next day was my flight from schiphol (best airport ever!) mid-afternoon. P (C's P, not P, L's friend P) helped me to den haag centraal because he's such a gentleman. maybe i need to go to lisbon next! i get to the airport without incident. board my flight to dublin, kick it in dublin airport for my layover & then board my flight back to NY. ahhhhh. the flight was great. my entire row (all the way across the plane) was empty so i really got to stretch out in those 3 middle of the plane seats. lovely. i forget what movie was playing. i think it was blades of thunderous steel. i practiced mouth-reading by not using my headphones even though they were free.
and then the inevitable happened to mark the end of my trip.
my pen exploded.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
In need of a better life (or, how appearances could be deceiving)
GUEST BLOGGER!!!!!!!!! check it, but don't wreck it.
*****
So, looking at just the bare facts, one could conclude that Our Heroine's (OH's) life is going verrry nicely. We've got a little sleep-in this morning, followed by a handsome man on a lovely black motorcycle arriving at her house. After mumbling something about "bed" into the enter-phone, he's buzzed in immediately. All positive signs to the casual observer.
But wait. Fast forward 20 min, and we check back in on OH. Have the positive signs of the morning born hedonistic fruit?
Manly-man, nowhere to be seen. Still wet and mostly nekid from a shower, OH is clutching her favourite flip flop in one hand and a broom in the other, chasing the LARGEST spider she has ever seen all around her bedroom. The same spider she watched crawl out of, and on top of, the air mattress (laying where dropped in the middle of her bedroom) to survey his new domain. A spider who was a champion and who took at least 10 minutes to kill.
Oh yes, OH's life still needs a whole lot of work…
*****
So, looking at just the bare facts, one could conclude that Our Heroine's (OH's) life is going verrry nicely. We've got a little sleep-in this morning, followed by a handsome man on a lovely black motorcycle arriving at her house. After mumbling something about "bed" into the enter-phone, he's buzzed in immediately. All positive signs to the casual observer.
But wait. Fast forward 20 min, and we check back in on OH. Have the positive signs of the morning born hedonistic fruit?
Manly-man, nowhere to be seen. Still wet and mostly nekid from a shower, OH is clutching her favourite flip flop in one hand and a broom in the other, chasing the LARGEST spider she has ever seen all around her bedroom. The same spider she watched crawl out of, and on top of, the air mattress (laying where dropped in the middle of her bedroom) to survey his new domain. A spider who was a champion and who took at least 10 minutes to kill.
Oh yes, OH's life still needs a whole lot of work…
Friday, September 7, 2007
Gorusmek uzere, istanbul!
20.08.07:
see you soon, istanbul!
my flight leaves around noon. i buy a few souvenirs, meet up with G to say bye and speed off to the airport.
after all my flying woes, the sun shone down on me. turns out my return flight was in business class. suh-weeeeeet. that sort of thing never happens to me. i have no idea how it happened. i thought the check-in counter woman was bumping me up, but she told me that i had been booked into business class. that was really news to me, since (a) i hadn't flown in business class on my way to istanbul & (b) i was pretty sure i hadn't paid business class fare. but i'm not going to complain.
i chill in the business class lounge and try to eat and drink all i can consume for free. my flight back to amsterdam was really quick, especially because i was seated next to a nice dutch guy who has lived all over the world because his parents worked for KLM. he had lived in istanbul for a while, too. but went to high school in india. all made for very interesting conversation.
i made my way back to the hague and back to P's place. it was a full-house: along with the three of them (P, C, and E), C's friend from portugal, P, was visiting. & in anticipation of C's move to d.c., E from canada, had moved in already. & then there was me. 6 of us! i did my laundry and settled back into my home away from home away from home away from home. i'm missing some away from homes in there. but you know what i mean.
see you soon, istanbul!
my flight leaves around noon. i buy a few souvenirs, meet up with G to say bye and speed off to the airport.
after all my flying woes, the sun shone down on me. turns out my return flight was in business class. suh-weeeeeet. that sort of thing never happens to me. i have no idea how it happened. i thought the check-in counter woman was bumping me up, but she told me that i had been booked into business class. that was really news to me, since (a) i hadn't flown in business class on my way to istanbul & (b) i was pretty sure i hadn't paid business class fare. but i'm not going to complain.
i chill in the business class lounge and try to eat and drink all i can consume for free. my flight back to amsterdam was really quick, especially because i was seated next to a nice dutch guy who has lived all over the world because his parents worked for KLM. he had lived in istanbul for a while, too. but went to high school in india. all made for very interesting conversation.
i made my way back to the hague and back to P's place. it was a full-house: along with the three of them (P, C, and E), C's friend from portugal, P, was visiting. & in anticipation of C's move to d.c., E from canada, had moved in already. & then there was me. 6 of us! i did my laundry and settled back into my home away from home away from home away from home. i'm missing some away from homes in there. but you know what i mean.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
pamphlet perv strikes!
19.08.07:
my time in istanbul is almost over. i have today and then tomorrow morning, basically. i have to leave for the airport by noon to catch my flight back to amsterdam & then go back to the hague for two days, waiting for my aer lingus flight back to new york. i hate saying goodbye, to people & to places. still, i do it alot. sometimes i wonder if i'll get tired of it. sometimes i think i am tired of it. and sometimes i can't wait to say hello to somewhere new.
G and i met at noon at my hotel. we'd planned today as a bhosphorus tour day. we got to the ferry terminal and were told that the tour (which is a summer-time tourist route) is a 6 hour thing. that's 3 more hours than the passengers on the minnow & they ended up deserted on an island. we decided to biff it. that's way too long for our adhd selves. we decide to make our own tour. but the convergence of adhd & lazy make for a pretty skimpy tour. plus being on a ferry takes us far from tavla, and that's unconscionable. so we get on and off two ferries that don't really take us anywhere we haven't really seen already. but whatevz. that's enough to sate me. i've been on the bhosphorus. we go back to my hotel, shower and change, and then head over to beyoglu. internet first, tavla second. after playing many, many games (i am actually improving both at tavla and at smoking narghile), G and i part ways. he's going to hang with some people he met & i decide to poke around town again. my 25 y.o. man friend from yesterday has the day off today, but i decided against hanging out with him again. i wanted to sort of have a low key last night in town. to bid a languid goodbye to the city.
G heads off in his direction. i walk back to galata tower to check out some of the side streets. eventually, i wind my way back to the main drag of beyoglu. i catch some pervert-y looking mans staring. i've faced down worse. indian men would put these guys to shame in a lechy stare smackdown competition.
i pass by our friend, pamphlet guy. he sees me alone and marks his prey. brochure guy is going for broke tonight. he grabs my hand and tell me how beautiful i am. he doesn't see G anywhere in sight so he comes closer. too close. i tell him that i'm going off to get a drink. he invites himself along, or rather invites himself to take me out for a drink. i point out that he would be a very bad employee if he ditched work right at prime pamphlet-handing out time. he shrugs and says he can work later. apparently (and perhaps creepily so), my beauty is so captivating that it is worth losing a pamphlet-passing out job for. suck on that nyc boys.
anyway, i manage to sidestep away by saying that i'd come by again later but that i had a "friend" to meet for drinks. by "a friend to meet" i mean G. he understands. backs off. watches me go up to cheap beer alley. now maybe i shouldn't have gone to cheap beer alley; it's right near the pamphlet guy. but it's also a good place to go & i sort of feel familiar there by now. i get a drink at post-punky-cheep-beer place and end up sitting outside at a table beside many of the punk contingent. we talk. we laugh. we cry. okay, no crying. but we did laugh. and smile. i, having nursed my beer for a century, finally pay up, say goodbye and foolishly walk back down the direction of pamphlet perv. i spot him, but he has his back to me. so thinking fast, i figure i can stealthily sneak right past him without him seeing me. oh but i am not a lucky woman. never have been.
he is delighted to see me. and especially to see me sans G. he stops me. he tells me loads of woo-ing me sorts of things. i'll speed this up actually since it went on for a while. i'm beautiful. he wants to live with me. he's never seen anyone so beautiful. he wants to marry me. he wants to take care of me. he wants to be my husband (i'm not sure how that differed from marrying me, but anyway.) he wants to know everything about me. he wants to meet my family. blah. blah. after 20 minutes of fending off his weird level-jumping advances. marketing to blase westerners is really not his thing. not that i'm blase about it. i really want out. of there. finally, i tell him that i have to go because G is waiting for me. then he starts insisting on a kiss. just one kiss. just one kiss on his lips. okay, no, just one kiss on his cheek. on his chin. forehead. lips again. neck. can he kiss me. on my lips. on my cheek. on my forehead. neck. chin. eyelids. we list all the parts of my face he can't kiss. which is all of them. i think maybe i can shame him. after all, he's seen me with G a lot. he knows G. i tell him that G is my boyfriend and that i can't kiss anyone else. he looks around and says "G isn't here right now. i won't tell." WOW. mind you, this is right on beyoglu main street. now, people are starting to look at us. and i feel really weird. i tell him i have to leave. i withdraw myself hastily from his grasp (he's been holding on to my arm and standing super close to me. i say i have to go to the tram to meet my boyfriend. he asks if he can walk with me. i don't say anything. he walks with me.
first thing he does as we head off toward taksim square is fling his arm over my shoulder and draw me close to him. i fling his arm off my shoulder and move away. the barrage of compliments and requests for kisses continue. all the way to the tram. the arm flinging persists now and again. he can't really keep up all that well because i am practically sprinting to the tram. i see resignation on his face. turns out i'm not interested in him. go figure. i make it to the tram station and he waves from the top of the stairs.
ick. i really should have just gone out again with C, my waiter-friend.
i get back to my room, pack up my things and flop into bed. all by myself. never thought that would be such a happy thought.
my time in istanbul is almost over. i have today and then tomorrow morning, basically. i have to leave for the airport by noon to catch my flight back to amsterdam & then go back to the hague for two days, waiting for my aer lingus flight back to new york. i hate saying goodbye, to people & to places. still, i do it alot. sometimes i wonder if i'll get tired of it. sometimes i think i am tired of it. and sometimes i can't wait to say hello to somewhere new.
G and i met at noon at my hotel. we'd planned today as a bhosphorus tour day. we got to the ferry terminal and were told that the tour (which is a summer-time tourist route) is a 6 hour thing. that's 3 more hours than the passengers on the minnow & they ended up deserted on an island. we decided to biff it. that's way too long for our adhd selves. we decide to make our own tour. but the convergence of adhd & lazy make for a pretty skimpy tour. plus being on a ferry takes us far from tavla, and that's unconscionable. so we get on and off two ferries that don't really take us anywhere we haven't really seen already. but whatevz. that's enough to sate me. i've been on the bhosphorus. we go back to my hotel, shower and change, and then head over to beyoglu. internet first, tavla second. after playing many, many games (i am actually improving both at tavla and at smoking narghile), G and i part ways. he's going to hang with some people he met & i decide to poke around town again. my 25 y.o. man friend from yesterday has the day off today, but i decided against hanging out with him again. i wanted to sort of have a low key last night in town. to bid a languid goodbye to the city.
G heads off in his direction. i walk back to galata tower to check out some of the side streets. eventually, i wind my way back to the main drag of beyoglu. i catch some pervert-y looking mans staring. i've faced down worse. indian men would put these guys to shame in a lechy stare smackdown competition.
i pass by our friend, pamphlet guy. he sees me alone and marks his prey. brochure guy is going for broke tonight. he grabs my hand and tell me how beautiful i am. he doesn't see G anywhere in sight so he comes closer. too close. i tell him that i'm going off to get a drink. he invites himself along, or rather invites himself to take me out for a drink. i point out that he would be a very bad employee if he ditched work right at prime pamphlet-handing out time. he shrugs and says he can work later. apparently (and perhaps creepily so), my beauty is so captivating that it is worth losing a pamphlet-passing out job for. suck on that nyc boys.
anyway, i manage to sidestep away by saying that i'd come by again later but that i had a "friend" to meet for drinks. by "a friend to meet" i mean G. he understands. backs off. watches me go up to cheap beer alley. now maybe i shouldn't have gone to cheap beer alley; it's right near the pamphlet guy. but it's also a good place to go & i sort of feel familiar there by now. i get a drink at post-punky-cheep-beer place and end up sitting outside at a table beside many of the punk contingent. we talk. we laugh. we cry. okay, no crying. but we did laugh. and smile. i, having nursed my beer for a century, finally pay up, say goodbye and foolishly walk back down the direction of pamphlet perv. i spot him, but he has his back to me. so thinking fast, i figure i can stealthily sneak right past him without him seeing me. oh but i am not a lucky woman. never have been.
he is delighted to see me. and especially to see me sans G. he stops me. he tells me loads of woo-ing me sorts of things. i'll speed this up actually since it went on for a while. i'm beautiful. he wants to live with me. he's never seen anyone so beautiful. he wants to marry me. he wants to take care of me. he wants to be my husband (i'm not sure how that differed from marrying me, but anyway.) he wants to know everything about me. he wants to meet my family. blah. blah. after 20 minutes of fending off his weird level-jumping advances. marketing to blase westerners is really not his thing. not that i'm blase about it. i really want out. of there. finally, i tell him that i have to go because G is waiting for me. then he starts insisting on a kiss. just one kiss. just one kiss on his lips. okay, no, just one kiss on his cheek. on his chin. forehead. lips again. neck. can he kiss me. on my lips. on my cheek. on my forehead. neck. chin. eyelids. we list all the parts of my face he can't kiss. which is all of them. i think maybe i can shame him. after all, he's seen me with G a lot. he knows G. i tell him that G is my boyfriend and that i can't kiss anyone else. he looks around and says "G isn't here right now. i won't tell." WOW. mind you, this is right on beyoglu main street. now, people are starting to look at us. and i feel really weird. i tell him i have to leave. i withdraw myself hastily from his grasp (he's been holding on to my arm and standing super close to me. i say i have to go to the tram to meet my boyfriend. he asks if he can walk with me. i don't say anything. he walks with me.
first thing he does as we head off toward taksim square is fling his arm over my shoulder and draw me close to him. i fling his arm off my shoulder and move away. the barrage of compliments and requests for kisses continue. all the way to the tram. the arm flinging persists now and again. he can't really keep up all that well because i am practically sprinting to the tram. i see resignation on his face. turns out i'm not interested in him. go figure. i make it to the tram station and he waves from the top of the stairs.
ick. i really should have just gone out again with C, my waiter-friend.
i get back to my room, pack up my things and flop into bed. all by myself. never thought that would be such a happy thought.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
tourist-y business & solo wanderings
today was an interesting day, to say the least!
wanna know more? well, then you have to read my verbose and stream-of-consciousness ramblings. oh, but i know you love it.
so G and i met at my hotel in the AM. i was supposed to be switching rooms today, since someone else was coming to stay in my double. originally the hotel desk clerk told me that i had to move to their sister hotel across the street. but then they decided to make things a little easier and i got another "double" room in the same place. however, thinking i could just move stuff over myself, in plastic bags, or whatever, i hadn't really packed up all my junk. but it turned out that the guests in my new room hadn't moved out because they had late check-out. lazy-as* slackers. oh, before i forget. the rooms at this place had names. my first room was called hittite & the second one, troy. pretty awesome, hey?
so i had to leave my stuff and G's in the hallway to be moved when those fools in troy finally got their sh*t together. harrumph. so not in my agenda. oh yeah, G's stuff was going to be staying in my room too since he was crashing with me. we head out.
our first stop was gulhane park, sweet, sweet escape within the city. not that you need to go to gulhane park for respite. still it was nearby and had a great view. we stopped for tea inside the park, gearing up for topkapi palace (beside the park). can i just say how awesome it is that things we wanted to see were relatively close to one another. of course i can say it. you are my captive audience. so i really wanted to see the harem here. really. but it was an extra 10 lira on top of the entrance fee. i checked if you could just go to the harem, but of course not. thanks istanbul ministry of tourism. mean. just plain stingy. so neither G, nor i were willing to pay extra for what (in my opinion) really ought to have been included. turns out that was a good thing since the guide book said that you get "herded through" the harem and you can only do it through guided tours that take place on a schedule. instead, we wandered around the palace. pretty cool place. especially the display of weapons. i could do some major damage on the streets of NYC. we did see the sultan's bed. which upon closer inspection apparently revealed some stains. of the semen variety. okay, gross. sorry. but c'mon it had to be said.
the coolest things were (a) a st. john the baptist relic (his ARM and a piece of his SKULL; and (b) muhammed's jacket (in a box) - you couldn't actually see the jacket, but i believe it. and we saw a kickass huge diamond. a diamond that had been located (at one time) in a dumpster. puts a whole new spin on dumpster diving.
we then decided to go check out a movie at the beyoglu sinemax. i had to go see a movie in an istanbul-i theatre. the highlight of the movie was the cute woman working the concession stand. seriously. high. light. the movie we saw is called outlaw. it was a scottish film and required a dictionary to understand. G had found an awesome baklava place on the main drag of beyoglu. i snuck it in. G snuck in a beer because he's bad like that. & that's just the way he rolls. so, to give you an idea of how kick-a*s this baklava is. the hotel front desk guy at G's hotel raised his hands to allah when he saw G with the baklava. this is a very good omen, natch. never thought i'd use natch in a sentence (written or otherwise) and now i have. sky has not fallen. though my cool barometer just hit the abyss. when G offered some baklava to the guy, he closed his eyes, raise his hand (palm-up) to G, shook his head and said "my wife says too much baklava." super cute. i didn't actually witness this exchange. this is all G's information. it's probably true since he doesn't exaggerate nearly as much as i do.
or maybe he does. & everything he told me was a lie.
the movie was so-so. the air/conditioning barely worked. i could have stood at the front of the theatre and blown air on everyone and it would have been cooler in there.
so, we had to go back to our cafe for some narghile, tavla & tea. me smoking the narghile is a pretty awesome sight. if G sends me the pictures, i'll post them up here. i can't really moan about that since i'm still not finished cataloguing mine. i need a personal assistant to assist with tech-related stuff. any offers?
so, G had plans for the evening and i was on my own. not to worry. on my own? i'm practically always on my own if you factor in my inner-mind fantasy land.
i think i previously mentioned the guy handing out pamphlets for the fancy restaurant. he parks himself at the end of the lane with our cafe. and really loves to chat with us. he kept trying to give us the brochure for the "memories" -- of what, i'm not sure. memories of harassment. good times. anyway, we really didn't know what he was touting. we took the pamphlet for the memories. we stopped to chat a bit (in retrospect, bad idea). he asked us where we're from and what we do. he joking (i hope) asked if we could take him back with us. ha ha. when G mentioned he was a teacher, he sort of ah-ed and nodded. when G said i was an avocat, he practically did a back-flip. he then insisted on trying on my glasses. i warned him that he'd be blinded, probably for life, or at least for the next 15 minutes. then of course, i caved. he was then wildly blinded. anyway, the excitement over my job was really weird. most of the time, guys run away like i'm about to hand them a subpoena. jeez louise. am i really that scary? c'mon i look like i'm 14.
i dropped G off at the funicular for his fun evening. i walked up & down beyoglu's streets, wandering in and out of shops. here and there. everywhere. starving. G and i had seen a "world coffee" place that looked cool & had good coffee (or so we'd heard/read/something.) it turned out to be a mirage because i couldn't find it. i was about to buckle and go to starbucks when i remembered a place called ada, cool coffee shop/restaurant/bookstore. i passed by it. easy to spot since there was scaffolding on the building next door. decided to dine there. and read my book. the menu didn't have much turkish food. i opted for pasta. and some turkish cheese rolls which turned out to be like wontons or spring rolls with with the local cheese inside. this might be a repeater story (what can i say, i'm turning into my mom) but when i asked at breakfast one morning (one morning when i actually ate my included with the price of the room rooftop breakfast) what the name of the cheese was. it's really delicious. like feta without the salty edge. the woman serving breakfast said "it's called cheese." yes, thank you. i thought it was called "goat". anyway, i asked what kind of cheese. she said "white cheese." what! white cheese! wow. anyway, without being any more snarky, it turned out that G had had a similar experience when he inquired about the cheese. i'll hit up murray's and ask for turkish cheese. should be good enough.
so my dinner was pretty good. i had a super cute waiter (deja vu!). we chatted and i turned on my feminine charms. namely, smiling a lot. he asked me some of the usual questions. where i'm from...what i do...what i think of istanbul. the you-zh. i go on about how i'm staying in sultanahmet and it sucks over there. next time, i'll stay in beyoglu. he agrees that sultanahmet sucks elbow. i finish up dinner; read a bit; ask for the cheque (yes, it's cheque, not check (mark).) anyway, he comes by to drop off the bill and asks me if i'm going to go back to sultanahmet. i say, yeah my travel companion is busy tonight and that i might wander around a bit and then take the tram home. i mention how i got stuck and had to take a vastly overpriced taxi one night. he asks if i want to come back to the restaurant when he's done his shift (in about half an hour), we could hang out, walk around beyoglu. i had nothing to do and it was still pretty early, so i say sure. he looks like he's about 20 but whatevz - i'm a lady about town. or a cougar. unclear. okay, it's clear but i prefer the former. and besides, who am i to turn down the attentions of a cute young man. i come back in a bit, browse the books, have a latte at the restaurant until he's ready to go.
we go out on our date. now, i'm tempted not to say anymore about the date because, well, i like to keep you guessing and i like an air of mystery. but i also like attention so i'll go on a bit. he takes me out to a fancy cafe (the beer is considerably more expensive than down cheap beer alley.) i tease him about being a "bad muslim" for being a beer-drinker. he tells me about his family. he has a 6 yr old sister who he absolutely adores. he wants to work on a cruise ship so he can help out his family with more money. his father makes just the rent on their apartment, so his contribution is really significant & important. so different from my life. i worry about my parents & about how they will do financially once my dad retires, but i can scarcely say i contribute to financing their household. we have a lovely time. we talk about my family, where i grew up, how few indian people there were, but what i've retained/rejected from my heritage. he's really interested in how multicultural society works. he's quite idealistic about it. i tell him that sometimes the diversity tapestry is frayed. and kind of tired looking.
he wants to hang out some more. and so do i. he's really good company and his english is really good, actually. we can actually communicate beyond the basics. so we decide to go back to sultanahmet since i have to go back there anyway and it's getting late. in true gentleman form, he wants to make sure i get back safely. quite the contrast to the NY "drop off" at the subway with a quick see you later. don't mean to hate on boys here. but there's something nice about being taken to your door. and that delicious butterfly feeling thinking about a goodnight kiss. so we head to sultanahmet in a taxi that isn't a rip-off. we pick up some beverage along the way. the bars/restaurants in my nabe are lacking ambience, kind of lame and packed with grizzled-looking australians and brits. we head to my room with our drinks to keep up the conversation. ostensibly.
now this is where the story is choose your own adventure. because, well, like vegas whatever happens in istanbul stays in istanbul. but don't let my mysterious ways constrain your imagination. envision whatever you want in your musings. i will tell you that: i'm not married or pregnant. those things are certain.
so go wild. you can't expect me to spoon feed you everything.
oh, he turned out to be 25 years old. my friends here think 25 is my magic number. i'm inclined to agree.
wanna know more? well, then you have to read my verbose and stream-of-consciousness ramblings. oh, but i know you love it.
so G and i met at my hotel in the AM. i was supposed to be switching rooms today, since someone else was coming to stay in my double. originally the hotel desk clerk told me that i had to move to their sister hotel across the street. but then they decided to make things a little easier and i got another "double" room in the same place. however, thinking i could just move stuff over myself, in plastic bags, or whatever, i hadn't really packed up all my junk. but it turned out that the guests in my new room hadn't moved out because they had late check-out. lazy-as* slackers. oh, before i forget. the rooms at this place had names. my first room was called hittite & the second one, troy. pretty awesome, hey?
so i had to leave my stuff and G's in the hallway to be moved when those fools in troy finally got their sh*t together. harrumph. so not in my agenda. oh yeah, G's stuff was going to be staying in my room too since he was crashing with me. we head out.
our first stop was gulhane park, sweet, sweet escape within the city. not that you need to go to gulhane park for respite. still it was nearby and had a great view. we stopped for tea inside the park, gearing up for topkapi palace (beside the park). can i just say how awesome it is that things we wanted to see were relatively close to one another. of course i can say it. you are my captive audience. so i really wanted to see the harem here. really. but it was an extra 10 lira on top of the entrance fee. i checked if you could just go to the harem, but of course not. thanks istanbul ministry of tourism. mean. just plain stingy. so neither G, nor i were willing to pay extra for what (in my opinion) really ought to have been included. turns out that was a good thing since the guide book said that you get "herded through" the harem and you can only do it through guided tours that take place on a schedule. instead, we wandered around the palace. pretty cool place. especially the display of weapons. i could do some major damage on the streets of NYC. we did see the sultan's bed. which upon closer inspection apparently revealed some stains. of the semen variety. okay, gross. sorry. but c'mon it had to be said.
the coolest things were (a) a st. john the baptist relic (his ARM and a piece of his SKULL; and (b) muhammed's jacket (in a box) - you couldn't actually see the jacket, but i believe it. and we saw a kickass huge diamond. a diamond that had been located (at one time) in a dumpster. puts a whole new spin on dumpster diving.
we then decided to go check out a movie at the beyoglu sinemax. i had to go see a movie in an istanbul-i theatre. the highlight of the movie was the cute woman working the concession stand. seriously. high. light. the movie we saw is called outlaw. it was a scottish film and required a dictionary to understand. G had found an awesome baklava place on the main drag of beyoglu. i snuck it in. G snuck in a beer because he's bad like that. & that's just the way he rolls. so, to give you an idea of how kick-a*s this baklava is. the hotel front desk guy at G's hotel raised his hands to allah when he saw G with the baklava. this is a very good omen, natch. never thought i'd use natch in a sentence (written or otherwise) and now i have. sky has not fallen. though my cool barometer just hit the abyss. when G offered some baklava to the guy, he closed his eyes, raise his hand (palm-up) to G, shook his head and said "my wife says too much baklava." super cute. i didn't actually witness this exchange. this is all G's information. it's probably true since he doesn't exaggerate nearly as much as i do.
or maybe he does. & everything he told me was a lie.
the movie was so-so. the air/conditioning barely worked. i could have stood at the front of the theatre and blown air on everyone and it would have been cooler in there.
so, we had to go back to our cafe for some narghile, tavla & tea. me smoking the narghile is a pretty awesome sight. if G sends me the pictures, i'll post them up here. i can't really moan about that since i'm still not finished cataloguing mine. i need a personal assistant to assist with tech-related stuff. any offers?
so, G had plans for the evening and i was on my own. not to worry. on my own? i'm practically always on my own if you factor in my inner-mind fantasy land.
i think i previously mentioned the guy handing out pamphlets for the fancy restaurant. he parks himself at the end of the lane with our cafe. and really loves to chat with us. he kept trying to give us the brochure for the "memories" -- of what, i'm not sure. memories of harassment. good times. anyway, we really didn't know what he was touting. we took the pamphlet for the memories. we stopped to chat a bit (in retrospect, bad idea). he asked us where we're from and what we do. he joking (i hope) asked if we could take him back with us. ha ha. when G mentioned he was a teacher, he sort of ah-ed and nodded. when G said i was an avocat, he practically did a back-flip. he then insisted on trying on my glasses. i warned him that he'd be blinded, probably for life, or at least for the next 15 minutes. then of course, i caved. he was then wildly blinded. anyway, the excitement over my job was really weird. most of the time, guys run away like i'm about to hand them a subpoena. jeez louise. am i really that scary? c'mon i look like i'm 14.
i dropped G off at the funicular for his fun evening. i walked up & down beyoglu's streets, wandering in and out of shops. here and there. everywhere. starving. G and i had seen a "world coffee" place that looked cool & had good coffee (or so we'd heard/read/something.) it turned out to be a mirage because i couldn't find it. i was about to buckle and go to starbucks when i remembered a place called ada, cool coffee shop/restaurant/bookstore. i passed by it. easy to spot since there was scaffolding on the building next door. decided to dine there. and read my book. the menu didn't have much turkish food. i opted for pasta. and some turkish cheese rolls which turned out to be like wontons or spring rolls with with the local cheese inside. this might be a repeater story (what can i say, i'm turning into my mom) but when i asked at breakfast one morning (one morning when i actually ate my included with the price of the room rooftop breakfast) what the name of the cheese was. it's really delicious. like feta without the salty edge. the woman serving breakfast said "it's called cheese." yes, thank you. i thought it was called "goat". anyway, i asked what kind of cheese. she said "white cheese." what! white cheese! wow. anyway, without being any more snarky, it turned out that G had had a similar experience when he inquired about the cheese. i'll hit up murray's and ask for turkish cheese. should be good enough.
so my dinner was pretty good. i had a super cute waiter (deja vu!). we chatted and i turned on my feminine charms. namely, smiling a lot. he asked me some of the usual questions. where i'm from...what i do...what i think of istanbul. the you-zh. i go on about how i'm staying in sultanahmet and it sucks over there. next time, i'll stay in beyoglu. he agrees that sultanahmet sucks elbow. i finish up dinner; read a bit; ask for the cheque (yes, it's cheque, not check (mark).) anyway, he comes by to drop off the bill and asks me if i'm going to go back to sultanahmet. i say, yeah my travel companion is busy tonight and that i might wander around a bit and then take the tram home. i mention how i got stuck and had to take a vastly overpriced taxi one night. he asks if i want to come back to the restaurant when he's done his shift (in about half an hour), we could hang out, walk around beyoglu. i had nothing to do and it was still pretty early, so i say sure. he looks like he's about 20 but whatevz - i'm a lady about town. or a cougar. unclear. okay, it's clear but i prefer the former. and besides, who am i to turn down the attentions of a cute young man. i come back in a bit, browse the books, have a latte at the restaurant until he's ready to go.
we go out on our date. now, i'm tempted not to say anymore about the date because, well, i like to keep you guessing and i like an air of mystery. but i also like attention so i'll go on a bit. he takes me out to a fancy cafe (the beer is considerably more expensive than down cheap beer alley.) i tease him about being a "bad muslim" for being a beer-drinker. he tells me about his family. he has a 6 yr old sister who he absolutely adores. he wants to work on a cruise ship so he can help out his family with more money. his father makes just the rent on their apartment, so his contribution is really significant & important. so different from my life. i worry about my parents & about how they will do financially once my dad retires, but i can scarcely say i contribute to financing their household. we have a lovely time. we talk about my family, where i grew up, how few indian people there were, but what i've retained/rejected from my heritage. he's really interested in how multicultural society works. he's quite idealistic about it. i tell him that sometimes the diversity tapestry is frayed. and kind of tired looking.
he wants to hang out some more. and so do i. he's really good company and his english is really good, actually. we can actually communicate beyond the basics. so we decide to go back to sultanahmet since i have to go back there anyway and it's getting late. in true gentleman form, he wants to make sure i get back safely. quite the contrast to the NY "drop off" at the subway with a quick see you later. don't mean to hate on boys here. but there's something nice about being taken to your door. and that delicious butterfly feeling thinking about a goodnight kiss. so we head to sultanahmet in a taxi that isn't a rip-off. we pick up some beverage along the way. the bars/restaurants in my nabe are lacking ambience, kind of lame and packed with grizzled-looking australians and brits. we head to my room with our drinks to keep up the conversation. ostensibly.
now this is where the story is choose your own adventure. because, well, like vegas whatever happens in istanbul stays in istanbul. but don't let my mysterious ways constrain your imagination. envision whatever you want in your musings. i will tell you that: i'm not married or pregnant. those things are certain.
so go wild. you can't expect me to spoon feed you everything.
oh, he turned out to be 25 years old. my friends here think 25 is my magic number. i'm inclined to agree.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
scrub-a-dub tourist day!
17.08.07:
today was our one official day of tourism. anything else we saw on other days was just superfluous. G and i had the awesomeness of wanting to see the same things and wanting to spend the same amount of time seeing them. this worked out to brilliant advantage for both of us. i'd be eying the exit, G would be too. yay. no feeling like you're rushing someone through a UNESCO heritage site or wondering just how long some can stare at a mosaic tile before losing the will to live. so it all worked out wonderfully.
we started off the day meeting at my hotel, which was about 5 minutes from both the blue mosque and hagia sofia. so i told you about the blue mosque already. so, haiga sofia. warning: more education. put on yer thinking caps kids.
Hi-YAAAA SOPHIA:
the most striking thing about hagia sophia is its massive dome, epitomizing byzantine architecture. for nearly 1000 years, hagia sophia was the largest cathedral in the whole world! pretty, cool.
hagia sophia was originally constructed as a church between (get this) 532 and 537 on the orders of byzantine emperor justinian. it was the third church of the holy wisdom to occupy the site. the prior two churches had both been destroyed by riots. two architects, isadore (of miletus) and anthemius (of tralles), designed the church. the church contained a bunch of holy relics. among other things, it had a 50-foot silver (i had to look this word up) ICONOSTASIS (a wall of icons and religious paintings, separating the nave from the sanctuary in a church). hagia sophia was the patriarchal church of the patriarch of constantinople (lots of patriarchy there!) and it was the religious focal point of the orthodox byzantine empire for nearly 1000 years.
way back in 1453, constantinople was conquered by the ottoman turks and sultan mehmed II ordered the hagia sophia building to be converted into a mosque. the bells, altars, iconostatis and sacrificial vessels were removed. many of the mosaics were eventually plastered over. the islamic features -- such as the four minarets outside, the mihrab (a niche in the wall of a mosque that indicates the qibla, i.e. the direction of Kaaba that Muslims should face when praying. the mihrab gives the impression of a door or a passage to Mecca. mihrabs first appeared in the prophet Muhammad's house in Mecca) and minbar (not to be confused with minibar!) (a pulpit) -- were added over the course of its history under the ottomans.
hagia sofia remained a mosque all the way up until 1935, when it was converted into a museum by the secular republic of turkey.
hagia sofia had a profound influence on architecture. for almost 500 years, as the principal mosque of istanbul, hagia sofia served as a model for many other ottoman mosques, including (its across the street neighbour) the blue mosque.
although it is sometimes referred to as Saint Sophia, the Greek name in full is church of the holy wisdom of God and it was dedicated to the holy wisdom of god rather than a specific saint named sophia.
trivia time: hagia sofia is featured in the 1963 bond film from russia with love where bond's lover tatiana romanova slips bond small blueprints of istanbul's russian consulate where bond needs to steal the lektor communication device. the hagia sophia is also seen in background shots in the 1999 bond film the world is not enough.
the hagia sofia is a striking building. calling it a museum (as it is today) really doesn't do it justice.
i am glad we did check out the blue mosque and the hagia sofia. but my favourite site visited on official tourism day was the basilica cistern, and not only because it was cool inside and therefore i wasn't sweating my own body weight.
THE BASILICA CISTERN:
the basilica cistern is the largest of several hundred ancient cisterns (receptacles for holding liquids, usually water) that still lie under istanbul. the basilica cistern is located near the hagia sofia (are you noticing a trend in our tourism, yet?) and was built during the reign of emperor justinian I in the 6th C, byzantine empire.
the cistern is the size of a cathedral. it's an underground chamber of 143x65 metres, capable of holding 80,000 cubic metres of water! the space is broken up by 336 marble columns each 9 metres high. the columns are arranged in 12 rows each consisting of 28 columns. apparently, emperor constantine had already built a basilica and cistern on the same spot, but as the demand for water grew, justinian enlarged the cistern and incorporated the basilica.
the bases of two of the columns re-use earlier blocks carved with the head of a medusa. no one knows the origin of the two heads. another mystery (call nancy drew!) is why one of the heads is upside down, and the other one tilted on its side. "scientists" commonly accept that that was done purposefully. i suspect the work of extraterrestrial forces, myself.
and, because the entire budget of from russia with love was blown in istanbul, the cistern was also used a location in that movie.
after all of our touring, G and I knew we needed a rub-down, smack-down sort of cleansing. with 7 layers of sweat having been dried & reactivated all day long, i was ready for someone to give me the bath of a lifetime. so we went to a hamam. G had wisely purchased scrubby mitts for us to take with us. trust me, there's nothing caring about sharing a dead-skin scrubber with other people.
G signed up for the lo-fi bath. i signed up for the hi-fi, scrub me, rub me, make me yours service. i can't speak to G's experience - all i can say is that the world is a small place because G ran into the guy of the american law firm tote carrying couple i was cold-shouldered by in the boarding lounge of the flight to istanbul.
my time at a hamam (or how i lost my inhibition to walk around naked around strangers):
i go in, pay the fee for the full-meal deal and am lead to a very nice change room. i change into the robe they give me, put on some flip flops and go to the bath. the bath is in an absolutely gorgeous marble steam room with a giant dome, shaped like a hexagon. it's quite large. placed along the wall are basin and taps. you fill the basin with water and use a scooper-outer to languidly pour the water over your body. this is how my mom used to give me baths. we never did the whole fill up the tub and sit in it thing. well, not until i heard about it from the outside world (i.e., school). and then i finally graduated up to showers. but i really liked the being scrubbed and shampooed by my mom kneeling by the side of the tub. and pouring water over my head. yay! so after a while of pouring water over me, a large turkish woman named maryam comes over to me. maryam is a lovely, though mostly silent woman who has the misfortune of wearing a bathing suit 4 sizes too small. now, everyone in the bath is naked, except for the employees (who are wearing bathing suits). there was one polly prude in the place (a foreign woman wearing a thong -- okay, i'm sorry, but if you are wearing a thong, you might as well wear nothing. i can see it all anyway). but the rest of us were naked. i have realized that my coping strategy for situations that at some point in the past would have been awkward (such as sitting in a room of naked strangers) is that since i can't see well without glasses and/or my contacts work less well than glasses, i don't care if people are staring at me and wondering how a freak of nature isn't working at a carny (because i can't see them.) and frankly if i can't see you, you don't exist. it's a glorious realization to have.
so maryam comes over to me, tells me to go to the center (there is a hexagonal raised platform there, so everyone can see whatever happens to you) and lie down on my back. she comes over and gives me a scrubbing! talk about big time scrub-a-thon. she removed dead skin cells from the entities i was in past lives! it was a very brisk and refreshing feeling actually. or i am deeply tolerant of having my body sandpapered. she gives me an amazing scrub. all over. ALL over. i then go back to my basin and wash myself off. she comes back to me after i've bathed again and brings me back to "our" spot on the hexagon platform. i am then massaged blissfully thoroughly and lathered up and shampooed. it felt wonderful! yay! thank you maryam!!
post-hamam experience, we took off to beyoglu for some tea, tavla & narghile. after much tavla fun was had, we wandered around beyoglu. i wanted to go check out topshop (hey, we don't have it in ny) and i wanted to check out a turkish music store to get some of the amazing pop we'd been hearing. G bought the cd with my favourite t-pop song on it (romeo by hande yener)! i bought a couple of cds too. then i went to starbucks (yes, i know -- how gauche) but i really just wanted a latte (as G would say - i succumbed to the trappings blah blah blah). we took some tourist loser pictures in starbucks. for proof of my lameness, i guess. we did some interwebs. and then went to the cheap beer bar G found. G had grabbed some food prior to us going to the beer place. i had not. the place was PACKED. there was nowhere to sit outside. we had to haul as* up to the top floor of the place and squeeze ourselves into a table. there we sat listening to amazing 80s and 90s music, wetting our whistles, scoping the crowd (there was a strange punk element there -- definitely some bizarre style choices like this guy with a super crazy-freak-on afro) and we had a heart-to-heart. which was absolutely wonderful de-tox for me. so thanks, G. you are a sweetheart. i needed to get home. back to sultanahmet from beyoglu, so back to the funicular + tram combo. G drops me at the funicular.
i take the funicular to where i transfer to the tram. or so i think. turns out the tram has stopped running for the night. it's not yet midnight. i walk to the transit guy standing at the entrance telling us that we can't go in. he tells me the tram is no longer running, that i can either go back on the funicular or take a taxi. i ask him what time the tram stops running. he says (get this) 11:50 pm!!! 11:50!! weird. so i ask him what time the funicular stops running. he says (i'm about to burst with anticipation) midnight. so, i ask him, the funicular runs until midnight, the tram until 11:50 even though the funicular connects up to the tram. he looks at me funnily and says yes. i start laughing. that's hilarious. he looks at me like i am mentally challenged. anyway. later G tells me that he heard that they both ran til at least midnight, or maybe until 12:30 or 1:00 AM. who knows!
so i take a taxi back to my hotel. we had to go all these weird back roads (maybe just to jack up the fare). by the time we got home, i was so happy i could have cut off my right arm as the fare.
dropped into bed! yay!!
the story about the funicular/tram reminds me of something hilarious again concerning the transit system. so G and S had these awesome little sticks that they could just put money on and then zap themselves in through the stalls. like a metrocard but not a card. it's much cheaper to have one of those because then you can just transfer from one form of transit (e.g., funicular) to another (e.g., tram). if you don't have one of those, then you end up paying 2 tokens for the ride (they didn't give you a transfer to get on another form of transit). so i spent so much time trying to track one of these down. you can recharge them pretty much anywhere, but they appeared to be IMPOSSIBLE to find! absolutely impossible. as you all know, patience is not my strongest quality. so by this time (after having asked about 6 different places over many days) i was about ready to bust through a metro kiosk. someone finally told me (instead of just directing me to another f*(king kiosk) that they don't have them anymore. apparently these very practical, very useful, very handy, very NECESSARY metro sticks ran as a limited supply, limited time only thing. RIDICULOUS. at that point, i was so drained that i wanted to just cry at the sheer absurdity of it all! G told me later that he met some people from istanbul who thought he actually lived in the city because he had one of those -- he could probably sell it on ebay for $100. jeez louise. it has to be said again. loud and proud, people: JEEZ LOUISE!!!!
today was our one official day of tourism. anything else we saw on other days was just superfluous. G and i had the awesomeness of wanting to see the same things and wanting to spend the same amount of time seeing them. this worked out to brilliant advantage for both of us. i'd be eying the exit, G would be too. yay. no feeling like you're rushing someone through a UNESCO heritage site or wondering just how long some can stare at a mosaic tile before losing the will to live. so it all worked out wonderfully.
we started off the day meeting at my hotel, which was about 5 minutes from both the blue mosque and hagia sofia. so i told you about the blue mosque already. so, haiga sofia. warning: more education. put on yer thinking caps kids.
Hi-YAAAA SOPHIA:
the most striking thing about hagia sophia is its massive dome, epitomizing byzantine architecture. for nearly 1000 years, hagia sophia was the largest cathedral in the whole world! pretty, cool.
hagia sophia was originally constructed as a church between (get this) 532 and 537 on the orders of byzantine emperor justinian. it was the third church of the holy wisdom to occupy the site. the prior two churches had both been destroyed by riots. two architects, isadore (of miletus) and anthemius (of tralles), designed the church. the church contained a bunch of holy relics. among other things, it had a 50-foot silver (i had to look this word up) ICONOSTASIS (a wall of icons and religious paintings, separating the nave from the sanctuary in a church). hagia sophia was the patriarchal church of the patriarch of constantinople (lots of patriarchy there!) and it was the religious focal point of the orthodox byzantine empire for nearly 1000 years.
way back in 1453, constantinople was conquered by the ottoman turks and sultan mehmed II ordered the hagia sophia building to be converted into a mosque. the bells, altars, iconostatis and sacrificial vessels were removed. many of the mosaics were eventually plastered over. the islamic features -- such as the four minarets outside, the mihrab (a niche in the wall of a mosque that indicates the qibla, i.e. the direction of Kaaba that Muslims should face when praying. the mihrab gives the impression of a door or a passage to Mecca. mihrabs first appeared in the prophet Muhammad's house in Mecca) and minbar (not to be confused with minibar!) (a pulpit) -- were added over the course of its history under the ottomans.
hagia sofia remained a mosque all the way up until 1935, when it was converted into a museum by the secular republic of turkey.
hagia sofia had a profound influence on architecture. for almost 500 years, as the principal mosque of istanbul, hagia sofia served as a model for many other ottoman mosques, including (its across the street neighbour) the blue mosque.
although it is sometimes referred to as Saint Sophia, the Greek name in full is church of the holy wisdom of God and it was dedicated to the holy wisdom of god rather than a specific saint named sophia.
trivia time: hagia sofia is featured in the 1963 bond film from russia with love where bond's lover tatiana romanova slips bond small blueprints of istanbul's russian consulate where bond needs to steal the lektor communication device. the hagia sophia is also seen in background shots in the 1999 bond film the world is not enough.
the hagia sofia is a striking building. calling it a museum (as it is today) really doesn't do it justice.
i am glad we did check out the blue mosque and the hagia sofia. but my favourite site visited on official tourism day was the basilica cistern, and not only because it was cool inside and therefore i wasn't sweating my own body weight.
THE BASILICA CISTERN:
the basilica cistern is the largest of several hundred ancient cisterns (receptacles for holding liquids, usually water) that still lie under istanbul. the basilica cistern is located near the hagia sofia (are you noticing a trend in our tourism, yet?) and was built during the reign of emperor justinian I in the 6th C, byzantine empire.
the cistern is the size of a cathedral. it's an underground chamber of 143x65 metres, capable of holding 80,000 cubic metres of water! the space is broken up by 336 marble columns each 9 metres high. the columns are arranged in 12 rows each consisting of 28 columns. apparently, emperor constantine had already built a basilica and cistern on the same spot, but as the demand for water grew, justinian enlarged the cistern and incorporated the basilica.
the bases of two of the columns re-use earlier blocks carved with the head of a medusa. no one knows the origin of the two heads. another mystery (call nancy drew!) is why one of the heads is upside down, and the other one tilted on its side. "scientists" commonly accept that that was done purposefully. i suspect the work of extraterrestrial forces, myself.
and, because the entire budget of from russia with love was blown in istanbul, the cistern was also used a location in that movie.
after all of our touring, G and I knew we needed a rub-down, smack-down sort of cleansing. with 7 layers of sweat having been dried & reactivated all day long, i was ready for someone to give me the bath of a lifetime. so we went to a hamam. G had wisely purchased scrubby mitts for us to take with us. trust me, there's nothing caring about sharing a dead-skin scrubber with other people.
G signed up for the lo-fi bath. i signed up for the hi-fi, scrub me, rub me, make me yours service. i can't speak to G's experience - all i can say is that the world is a small place because G ran into the guy of the american law firm tote carrying couple i was cold-shouldered by in the boarding lounge of the flight to istanbul.
my time at a hamam (or how i lost my inhibition to walk around naked around strangers):
i go in, pay the fee for the full-meal deal and am lead to a very nice change room. i change into the robe they give me, put on some flip flops and go to the bath. the bath is in an absolutely gorgeous marble steam room with a giant dome, shaped like a hexagon. it's quite large. placed along the wall are basin and taps. you fill the basin with water and use a scooper-outer to languidly pour the water over your body. this is how my mom used to give me baths. we never did the whole fill up the tub and sit in it thing. well, not until i heard about it from the outside world (i.e., school). and then i finally graduated up to showers. but i really liked the being scrubbed and shampooed by my mom kneeling by the side of the tub. and pouring water over my head. yay! so after a while of pouring water over me, a large turkish woman named maryam comes over to me. maryam is a lovely, though mostly silent woman who has the misfortune of wearing a bathing suit 4 sizes too small. now, everyone in the bath is naked, except for the employees (who are wearing bathing suits). there was one polly prude in the place (a foreign woman wearing a thong -- okay, i'm sorry, but if you are wearing a thong, you might as well wear nothing. i can see it all anyway). but the rest of us were naked. i have realized that my coping strategy for situations that at some point in the past would have been awkward (such as sitting in a room of naked strangers) is that since i can't see well without glasses and/or my contacts work less well than glasses, i don't care if people are staring at me and wondering how a freak of nature isn't working at a carny (because i can't see them.) and frankly if i can't see you, you don't exist. it's a glorious realization to have.
so maryam comes over to me, tells me to go to the center (there is a hexagonal raised platform there, so everyone can see whatever happens to you) and lie down on my back. she comes over and gives me a scrubbing! talk about big time scrub-a-thon. she removed dead skin cells from the entities i was in past lives! it was a very brisk and refreshing feeling actually. or i am deeply tolerant of having my body sandpapered. she gives me an amazing scrub. all over. ALL over. i then go back to my basin and wash myself off. she comes back to me after i've bathed again and brings me back to "our" spot on the hexagon platform. i am then massaged blissfully thoroughly and lathered up and shampooed. it felt wonderful! yay! thank you maryam!!
post-hamam experience, we took off to beyoglu for some tea, tavla & narghile. after much tavla fun was had, we wandered around beyoglu. i wanted to go check out topshop (hey, we don't have it in ny) and i wanted to check out a turkish music store to get some of the amazing pop we'd been hearing. G bought the cd with my favourite t-pop song on it (romeo by hande yener)! i bought a couple of cds too. then i went to starbucks (yes, i know -- how gauche) but i really just wanted a latte (as G would say - i succumbed to the trappings blah blah blah). we took some tourist loser pictures in starbucks. for proof of my lameness, i guess. we did some interwebs. and then went to the cheap beer bar G found. G had grabbed some food prior to us going to the beer place. i had not. the place was PACKED. there was nowhere to sit outside. we had to haul as* up to the top floor of the place and squeeze ourselves into a table. there we sat listening to amazing 80s and 90s music, wetting our whistles, scoping the crowd (there was a strange punk element there -- definitely some bizarre style choices like this guy with a super crazy-freak-on afro) and we had a heart-to-heart. which was absolutely wonderful de-tox for me. so thanks, G. you are a sweetheart. i needed to get home. back to sultanahmet from beyoglu, so back to the funicular + tram combo. G drops me at the funicular.
i take the funicular to where i transfer to the tram. or so i think. turns out the tram has stopped running for the night. it's not yet midnight. i walk to the transit guy standing at the entrance telling us that we can't go in. he tells me the tram is no longer running, that i can either go back on the funicular or take a taxi. i ask him what time the tram stops running. he says (get this) 11:50 pm!!! 11:50!! weird. so i ask him what time the funicular stops running. he says (i'm about to burst with anticipation) midnight. so, i ask him, the funicular runs until midnight, the tram until 11:50 even though the funicular connects up to the tram. he looks at me funnily and says yes. i start laughing. that's hilarious. he looks at me like i am mentally challenged. anyway. later G tells me that he heard that they both ran til at least midnight, or maybe until 12:30 or 1:00 AM. who knows!
so i take a taxi back to my hotel. we had to go all these weird back roads (maybe just to jack up the fare). by the time we got home, i was so happy i could have cut off my right arm as the fare.
dropped into bed! yay!!
the story about the funicular/tram reminds me of something hilarious again concerning the transit system. so G and S had these awesome little sticks that they could just put money on and then zap themselves in through the stalls. like a metrocard but not a card. it's much cheaper to have one of those because then you can just transfer from one form of transit (e.g., funicular) to another (e.g., tram). if you don't have one of those, then you end up paying 2 tokens for the ride (they didn't give you a transfer to get on another form of transit). so i spent so much time trying to track one of these down. you can recharge them pretty much anywhere, but they appeared to be IMPOSSIBLE to find! absolutely impossible. as you all know, patience is not my strongest quality. so by this time (after having asked about 6 different places over many days) i was about ready to bust through a metro kiosk. someone finally told me (instead of just directing me to another f*(king kiosk) that they don't have them anymore. apparently these very practical, very useful, very handy, very NECESSARY metro sticks ran as a limited supply, limited time only thing. RIDICULOUS. at that point, i was so drained that i wanted to just cry at the sheer absurdity of it all! G told me later that he met some people from istanbul who thought he actually lived in the city because he had one of those -- he could probably sell it on ebay for $100. jeez louise. it has to be said again. loud and proud, people: JEEZ LOUISE!!!!
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